


mine

by boykingofhell (alloftimeandspace)



Series: Codependency, Winchester Style [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam is seventeen, Wincest - Freeform, brief mention of prositution, dean is twenty one, nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8191711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alloftimeandspace/pseuds/boykingofhell
Summary: Dean takes care of Sam, and Sam takes care of Dean





	

Dean fished the motel key out of his pocket and hoped to God that Sam was asleep. Guilt had already settled heavy in his stomach, shame eating its way into his lungs like a virus until he was gasping for breath outside the room. He doubled over, sucking in frantic bursts of air that made his chest burn. Raw panic tore through him and he reached out a hand to steady himself against the wall, hands scraping against the rough brick as he scrabbled to hold on and keep himself from falling over. The ground was spinning, sky turning lopsided in his vision as he tried vainly to even out his breathing. It felt like hours before the ground stopped moving and the sky righted himself, and he stood up and set his jaw and forced himself to face the door. There wasn't any light peeking through the curtains and he thought maybe someone up there cared just enough to spare him for the night. _First time for everything,_  he thought dimly, turning the knob without much hope.

  
Sam was still up, bent over a book that might've been lore, and might've also been his calculus homework. _Nerd,_  Dean thought affectionately. He stumbled into the room a little more clumsily than necessary and hoped he was playing drunk enough to keep Sam from asking questions. But then Sam turned around in his chair and fixed Dean with a look, a look that was so _Sam_  it made his chest pull tight and he started to feel like his lungs were giving out again, too many bummed cigarettes and too much blinding panic to be able to breathe because Sam knew oh god Sam knew he hadn't been careful enough hadn't-

  
"Dean."

  
Dean had stopped playing drunk, and now he closed his eyes against Sam's voice, didn't like the hint of pity hidden in the undertones of it. He took a deep breath and tried to bury the panic under layers of self assurance, bad jokes and crooked smiles pulling wry at the side of his mouth. "Can't believe you're doin' homework on a Friday night," he teased. Even he could hear the flat tone in his voice, sticking out so plainly it might've damn well been a neon sign.

  
"Dean, I know." 'Course he did. He was smart, Dean's baby boy, a damn genius who was too pretty for his own good. He didn't know why he'd ever thought he could hide something like this for so long, not from Sam at least. He didn't have the energy to lie. Not tonight. He _ached_ , bad, could feel something cold and sticky running down his thighs underneath his jeans and all he wanted was a shower, wanted to feel clean again, but he could never get the water hot enough to burn his skin the way he wanted it to, the only way he was convinced he would ever feel clean again. He felt his face flush and now his skin _itched_ , an itch so deep he couldn't scratch it, could feel it  _under_  his skin. The room felt like an oven, but it wasn't the room, was it? It was him, shame burning so badly he couldn't think straight. And now Sam knew and he wanted to talk about, some fuckin' heart to heart like Sam liked to have. He needed a fucking drink.

  
Sam stood up and Dean flinched, catching the movement out of the corner of his eye. He knew Sam had seen it, wincing because Sam would think it was him, because Sam always thought it was him, and it never was. It was Dean's fault, all Dean's. He didn't deserve Sam, so beautiful and good, too good for Dean, too beautiful to be touched by Dean's hands. He felt something catch in his throat, almost turned and walked right back out the motel door so he wouldn't have to deal with the god damn shame of it all. And then Sam stopped, inches from him, staring heavy into his eyes. Dean couldn't hold his gaze. There was too much question in it, too much innocence. Too much trust. "Sammy," he started, voice catching in his throat. "I-"

  
He cut himself off as Sam closed the distance between them and wrapped his long arms around Dean, resting his head on Dean's shoulder and pressing a kiss to his neck. "No more, please. We'll get by," Sam whispered. 

"Sammy, I-"

  
"Please." He pulled away from Dean suddenly, and Dean _did not_  whimper at the loss of contact. He saw Sam's nimble fingers disappear into his pocket and pull out his necklace, unraveling it and slipping it back over Dean's head, letting the amulet settle against his chest, where it belonged. His mouth found Dean's neck again, pressing close and possessive against his skin. He always was a possessive little bastard. "Mine," Sam mumbled against him, punctuating the word with a bite that brought blood rushing to the surface. Dean's heart flipped in his chest as Sam's mouth found his collarbone. "Mine," he said again, breath hot on Dean's skin. Dean found himself nodding, twisting his fingers into Sam's hair. "Yours," he murmured in agreement. He relaxed into his little brother's touch, relinquishing his control and letting Sam lead.

  
Sam stopped and let his head rest against Dean's chest, humming something soft that Dean couldn't quite make out as they clung to each other in the middle of the room. Everything felt so _exposed_ , everything Dean had tried to hide because he would've done anything to protect his baby brother, even this.

  
When they moved, it was Sam who was leading again, taking Dean's hand and pulling him into the bathroom. It was cramped, too small for the two of them to be crowding in there together, limbs knocking into each other with every movement. Sam told him softly, "Get in the shower, I'll be right back," and disappeared into the room again. Dean stood there blankly for a moment, forgetting how to make use of his limbs, everything dull and numb in his head. Slowly, slowly he stripped off his clothes; his jacket, and beneath that, a shirt that was far too tight, and jeans that clung to his ass. He'd had to dress the part. Bare feet hit cold tile and he shivered, completely naked in the tiny bathroom, suddenly aware of how _dirty_  he was, marked up by someone who wasn't Sam, covered in sticky evidence that he'd tried so hard to hide. But Sam always knew and oh God he'd really fucked up this time.

  
He didn't hear Sam come back, didn't realise he was there until he felt Sam's fingers splayed over his back, nudging him towards the shower. "Sammy-"

"Shhh," Sam whispered, kissing the back of Dean's neck gently. "C'mon."

  
The spray of the hot water felt like relief. Sam kept him close, kept dropping feather-light kisses and lingering touches to let Dean know he was there. He hadn't felt clean in weeks, but this, this was different. He could feel everything washing away, felt like Sam's touch was making him pure again, Sam's mouth pressing gentle against his skin. He cupped Sam's face under the spray and kissed him, soft like their first kiss, letting the water roll down their backs and their faces until everything else seemed to melt away.

  
They got out of the shower, Sam still leading. He handed Dean a towel and the clean clothes he'd brought for him into the bathroom and left him fumbling with his sweats while he went to the fridge to grab a couple beers. They drank in the dim silence of the room at the tiny table by the window, both quiet until Dean couldn't stand it anymore. "Sammy, you know it didn't mean a damn thing, don't you?"

  
"I know." His sentences were measure, calculated, stark against Dean's sloppy, messy speech. "Dean, you don't have to-"

  
"Like hell I don't. God Sammy, I'm so sorry." He felt the burn in his cheeks again, the alcohol mixing with bile in his stomach. _I need something stronger,_  he thought to himself, moving to find his flask before he remembered getting up.

  
"De, no. No more," Sam pleaded, for the second time that night. "Let's just sleep, okay?"

  
He didn't look back at Sam. "I'll ruin you," he murmured lowly, digging in his duffle for the whisky he'd buried there.

  
Sam's hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled it out of the bag. "Dean, I don't care what you did. I don't care, okay? I'm the one who should be sorry, because it's my fault. But damn it, please don't run away from me. I can't do it Dean, I just can't."

  
Dean stared at him in shock for a moment. The world felt like it stopped turning, and he swore that was more than Sam had said to him in the past week. Finally, he stood up from where he'd been crouched next to his duffle and took Sam by the waist. "Let's go to bed," he agreed, voice barely audible.

  
They laid in the dark, listening to the sound of each others breathing and the cars passing outside the window. "'S not your fault," Dean whispered into the back of Sam's neck, wrapping his arms tighter around Sam.

  
"Why'd you take off the necklace?" Sam asked, ignoring Dean's previous statement.

  
"'M not theirs. 'M yours."

  
"Mine," Sam breathed, content in Dean's arms. "Mine."

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on tumblr - http://demonblood-boyking.tumblr.com/  
> // currently taking fic requests //


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